


Three Strikes & You're Out

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Male Character, Boys Kissing, Explicit Language, Fluff, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Kissing, Smut, Steve acts like an ass, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-05-18 18:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: Steve Rogers was the league leading home run hitter, a Golden Glove shortstop, and team captain, all of which made him very comfortable with his position on the Yankees. Until James “Bucky” Barnes was called up from the minors to take over for their injured center fielder. Now Steve isn’t so sure where he stands anymore, both professionally and personally. Who knew some young, cocky, annoying kid from Brooklyn would turn Steve’s life upside down?





	1. Pinch Hitter

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Stucky fic! I hope you enjoy it. Fic has an unknown number of chapters.

 

Steve scooped the ball off of the ground, his momentum carrying him forward. He saw the ground rushing at him, so he ducked his head and rolled, somersaulting back to his feet, a grin on his face, the ball safely tucked in his mitt.

“You suck, Rogers,” Clint laughed. “Somedays I really hate you.”

Steve could only laugh and shrug as he tossed the ball back to Pietro. He was getting set for another catch when he heard his name being called.

“Rogers, get your ass over here!” Tony shouted.

Steve jogged across the field, sliding to a halt in front of Tony Stark, the Yankees team manager. Standing beside him was a good looking kid, young, maybe early twenties, with shaggy brown hair and extremely blue eyes, even bluer than his own. He was shifting uneasily from foot to foot, watching the other players on the field.

“James,” Stark said, pointing at the kid, “this is Steve Rogers, shortstop, team captain, and all around showoff. Rogers, this James Barnes. Management brought him up from the minors to replace Sam.”

“Call me Bucky,” the kid said, sticking out his hand.

“Bucky?” Steve tipped his head to one side as he took the kid’s hand in a firm grip.

“It’s short for Buchanan, my middle name,” he shrugged. “Nobody calls me James.” He grinned, the smile lighting up his whole face. 

_ Boy, the baseball groupies are gonna love him. He’s adorable. _

Steve shook himself free of the thought and put on his most welcoming smile. “Well, Bucky, we’re glad to have ya,” he said. “You any good?”

Stark rolled his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. He was accustomed to Steve quizzing new players; he didn’t take his profession lightly. In fact, if Steve hadn’t asked, Stark would’ve. He always wanted to know what his players thought of themselves. 

“Better than most,” Bucky answered. “I’ve got what it takes.”

“Let’s hope so,” Steve laughed. “You got some pretty big shoes to fill. Sam was a killer.”

“Shame about his shoulder,” Bucky said. “He doing okay?”

“As good as a guy that’s out for the rest of the year can be, I guess,” Steve replied. “We’re gonna expect big things from you, Bucky.”

“You’ll get ‘em, don’t worry,” Bucky grinned.

_ Cocky. But cute _ .

“Alright, enough with the pleasantries, boys,” Stark muttered. “Get your asses out there and show me what you’ve got.”

* * *

Practice had gone well and it looked like Bucky might be the real deal. Steve had kept one eye on him, watching him catch fly balls and grounders out in centerfield, as well as observing him at the plate. Steve wondered if his home run title might be in jeopardy as he watched the kid hit home run after home run like it was nothing, smacking them into the deepest part of the park. Bucky was a genuine phenom, he was good, really good, and he was obviously happy to be there, which would only make him a better player. It was fun to watch the excited rookie on his first day and it certainly didn’t hurt that he was attractive, sporting muscular, broad shoulders and a tight ass worthy of watching.

_ Don’t touch the rookie _ .

“Kid’s good, isn’t he?” Barton muttered, leaning on the fence beside Steve.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled. “Real good.”

“Not bad on the eyes, either,” Barton added.

Steve dropped his head, shaking it and chuckling under his breath. Barton was one of only a couple of guys on the team who knew about Steve’s proclivities when it came to dating. The press called him a “perpetual bachelor” while Clint - and Sam - knew he just hadn’t found the right guy yet. But he would never date a teammate. Never. While being gay - or bisexual like Steve - didn’t have the same connotations it had had twenty, thirty, forty years earlier, Steve didn’t like the idea of making any of his fellow teammates feel uncomfortable. That was why only his closest friends, Clint and Sam, knew about his sexual preferences. It was a closely guarded secret that not even his agent, Natasha, knew about.

“Yeah,” Steve muttered, blushing. “But you know what they say -”

“Don’t shit where you eat,” Clint finished. He clapped Steve on the back. “Doesn’t mean you can’t look, though, right?”

“I am only human,” Steve laughed, nodding at Bucky sprawled on the ground, his shirt tossed to one side, his golden skin soaking up the late afternoon sun.

“Yo, Barnes,” Clint yelled, drawing the young players attention toward the two of them.

For a moment, panic wormed its way into Steve’s heart and the fear that Barton would say something, tell the kid what Steve was thinking, unexpectedly overwhelmed him. He knew in his heart that Clint would never say anything, but his mouth fell open anyway, ready to protest, that was until he heard Clint telling the kid to follow him, he’d show him around the locker room. Bucky scrambled to his feet and jogged after the first baseman, flashing his brilliant smile at Steve as he passed him.

_Great, now he saw me staring at him with my mouth hanging open._ _Jesus, I need to get laid._

Steve grabbed his mitt and followed the rest of the team inside, silently chastising himself for letting Bucky get under his skin. It was just because the kid was attractive and it had been a long time since Steve had even been on a date; his head was taking him places it shouldn’t. He needed to push it down, way down, and be a professional. Bucky was his teammate. Period.

By the time he got to his car, showered and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, Steve had managed to push all inappropriate thoughts about the young rookie out of his head and once he pulled onto the street, top down, music blaring, Bucky was nothing more than a blip on his radar, just another part of his work day.

Until he turned the corner to see the kid standing by the bus stop, shuffling his feet, hands shoved deep in his pockets, backpack slung over his shoulder, one earbud in his ear. Steve almost drove by, but something made him stop, whipping to the right, parking in front of Bucky.

“Hey Bucky,” Steve said, twisting the knob to lower the volume on his music, “you taking the bus?”

“I don’t have a car,” Bucky shrugged. “Been moving around too much to get one.”

“Where are you staying?” Steve asked.

“The team is putting me up at a hotel,” he answered. “At least until I find an apartment.”

Steve leaned over and pushed open the passenger side door. “Get in,” he said. “I’ll give you a ride.”

 


	2. The Bunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky goes out with the guys for beers and he thinks maybe Steve was flirting with him. If he wasn’t, Bucky just might spontaneously combust.

Christ, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t make words come out of his mouth.

Steve Rogers was parked in front of him, staring up at him, a smile on that to-die-for, gorgeous face, and offering him, Bucky “Nobody Fucking Special” Barnes, a ride to his hotel. Holy shit.

_Say something you idiot._

Bucky cleared his throat. “S-sure, that’d be awesome.”

 _For fuck’s sake. Awesome? Did I really just say awesome?_ _What are you, Barnes? Twelve?_

He eased into the car, trying to keep his cool and not act like the starstruck idiot he knew he was. It wasn’t easy, what with Steve smiling at him and looking completely stunning. Bucky had admired Steve for a couple of years; he was an amazing player, hitting the majors after just a year in the minors, blowing everyone out of the water with how good he was. He played ball better than anybody Bucky had ever seen, better than Bucky could ever hope to play. Not to mention, he was insanely attractive.

“Where to?” Steve asked, interrupting Bucky’s inner monologue.

Bucky gave him the name of his hotel, earning himself another brain busting grin from the Yankee shortstop. Steve turned the volume up on the radio and pulled back out into traffic, his fingers tapping the steering wheel in time with the music.

“So, Buck, you been to New York before?” Steve asked, voice raised to be heard over the music.

Bucky wanted to melt at the sudden use of a nickname, his heart pounding harder than normal. He licked his lips, wishing he had a bottle of water to chug to help with his dry mouth. “Uh, actually I grew up in Brooklyn.”

“No shit,” Steve chuckled. “Me, too.”

_Trust me, Steve, I know._

They made small talk as Steve drove effortlessly through the streets of New York - what neighborhood Bucky had grown up in, what schools he had gone to, people he knew, favorite delis, favorite places to hang out. They shared a few favorites, which made Bucky smile.

Steve slipped into an open parking space in front of Bucky’s hotel, dropping the volume on the music as Bucky climbed from the car.

“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky said, turning back to look at the man in the car, his hands on the door. “I really appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Steve shrugged. He glanced around before leaning over the passenger seat. “Hey, you wanna grab a couple of beers tonight? I can, uh, answer whatever questions you have about the team...or the majors -” He trailed off, staring at Bucky expectantly.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said. “Sounds great.”

Steve fished a pen and paper out of the glovebox, scribbled something on it and handed it to Bucky.

“That’s a bar a bunch of us hang out at,” he said. “I’ll be there around eight if you wanna come by.”

Bucky could only nod as Steve drove off, his heart practically beating out of his chest. He ducked his head and hurried inside, straight to the elevators, stabbing impatiently at the number for his floor. He needed a minute to get his head on straight, to take stock of what had just happened. He knew it didn’t mean the same thing to Steve as it did to him; after all Rogers wasn’t half in lust with his teammate. No, that honor belonged strictly to Bucky.

* * *

“Tell your sister to stop laughing,” Bucky grumbled. “This isn’t funny.”

“Nebula, shut up,” Bucky’s best friend, Gamora, hissed at her younger sister. Nebula’s laughter faded, as if Gamora was moving to another part of the house, though Bucky swore he could still hear it.

“So, let me get this straight,” Gamora continued. “First day, practice was awesome, Steve Rogers gave you a ride home, _and_ he asked you out?”

“H-he didn’t ask me out, Gam -” Bucky sputtered. “He invited me to a bar where a bunch of the players hang out. To grab a couple of beers. That’s it.”

“Does he know you’re gay?” Gamora asked.

“It was my first day, Gamora,” Bucky huffed. “I didn’t exactly run through the locker room screaming ‘I’m gay, I’m gay.’ I thought it might be in poor taste.”

“Bucky, you’ve never hidden your sexuality before, why start now?” Gamora sighed.

“I’m not hiding it,” he replied. “I have no intention of hiding it. But I’m also not going to tell the man I’ve been lusting after for two years that I have a crush on him. Especially now that we’re teammates.”

“So, what, you’re going to just moon over him from afar?” Gamora laughed.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh with her. “Yeah, Gam, that’s what I’m gonna have to do,” he said. “I don’t even think he’s gay. He’s always in the press with a woman on his arm.”

“Maybe he’s bi,” Gamora offered. “Won’t hurt to flirt a little, right? Feel him out?”

“Gamora -”

“I said feel him out, not feel him up,” she muttered.

“Goodbye, Gam,” Bucky chuckled, ending the call before his best friend could say anything else.

* * *

The bar where he was meeting Steve, Ashton’s Sports Bar, was only about ten blocks from his hotel, so Bucky walked. He’d always loved walking in the city, getting lost in the crowds, people watching. He’d missed being here, shuffling his way through the minors, always hoping for his shot at the majors.

And he’d gotten it. When the call had come, when he’d stepped into the manager’s office and been told his time in Scranton/Wilkes-Barre was over and he was going to the Yankees, it was as if all of his dreams had come true. He’d been on his way to New York that night, and on the field at practice the next day. Tomorrow was his first game. It was happening so fast, he’d barely had time to take it all in - the majors, the money, the hotel, being back home, and Steve. Playing with Steve was a definite dream come true. Now all he had to do was get past this ridiculous crush he had on the guy and act like a professional.

Which made the fact that he was standing outside Ashton’s Sports Bar, hand on the door, about to go in and see said crush, a very bad idea. His palms were sweating, his heart was pounding, and he honestly felt like he might throw up. Bucky couldn’t understand why he felt like this, all of a sudden out of the blue, especially after spending the day in the guy’s presence. He needed a drink, but not too many, after all, he had a game in the morning.

_You got this, James. Get your ass in there, have a beer, then get back to the hotel and get some sleep._

Bucky yanked the door open and sauntered inside, doing his best to appear as nonchalant as possible. He was only a few steps in the door when he heard his name coming from somewhere in the back of the bar. He weaved his way through the tables full of customers - _busy place_  - until he saw a table in the back, slightly separated from everyone else, with several members of the team seated at the table.

“Bucky!” Steve was on his feet, waving at him.

_Could he look anymore attractive? Christ, he’s trying to kill me._

Steve was wearing a blue polo, the material screaming at the pressure his biceps and shoulders were putting on it. The blue in the polo made his cerulean eyes impossibly bluer, taking Bucky’s breath away. His jeans were tight, low on his hips, and when he raised his arm to wave, Bucky saw the waistband of his red Calvin Klein’s. He almost turned around right then and there and walked out. He couldn’t stare into those gorgeous blue eyes without coming undone. Shit, he was halfway there already.

“James!” Thor Odinson, the Yankee second baseman, yelled. “You’ve joined us!” He yanked a chair away from the table, between he and Steve, and gestured for Bucky to sit. Thor ordered a beer, slamming the glass on the table in front of Bucky when it arrived, beer sloshing over the sides into his lap.

That was pretty much how the evening went, Thor ploughing him with drinks, most of which he didn’t drink, Clint and Peter Quill drawing him into conversation, Sam - the man he’d replaced in centerfield - goodnaturedly grumbling about his young replacement, and Steve sitting beside him, laughing and drinking, so close Bucky could smell the light scent of his cologne. The guys were great, fun to be around, and obviously favorites in the bar; the drinks never stopped flowing, and the food kept coming, along with the fans, wandering by to ask for autographs, meet the rookie, or commiserate with Sam about his shoulder. Bucky was having a great time.

Around ten, everyone started to say their goodbyes, mindful of the game they had the next day. Clint and Sam left, followed shortly by Thor and Peter, leaving Steve and Bucky as the last ones at the table.

“You doing okay, kid?” Steve asked. “Nervous about tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, I am.”

Steve clapped him on the back. “You’ll be okay,” he said. “You’re fucking incredible. You’re gonna kick ass tomorrow. Got a lot of friends and family coming out for the game?”

“My folks,” Bucky nodded. “Probably my best friend.”

“Girlfriend?” Steve inquired.

“No,” Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “I...uh, I don’t have a girlfriend. I’m...I’m, uh, I’m gay.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it sure the hell wasn’t Steve licking his lips and sitting back with a grin on his face. He stretched his arms above his head and his legs out straight, crossed at the ankles, that grin never leaving his face.

_That’s it, make this harder Rogers. Putting yourself on display like an all-I-can-eat-buffet. Asshole._

“You, uh, always just blurt that out?” Steve said.

Bucky shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate on what Steve was saying rather than the fact that the man was sprawled out, tempting Bucky to indulge in the fantasy.

“I’m not ashamed of it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bucky shrugged. “I mean, I don’t run around screaming it at the top of my lungs, but I don’t hide it either. It doesn’t change who I am or how good of a ballplayer I am.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t,” Steve agreed. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re still the rookie who took my best friend’s spot in the lineup and the guy who is threatening to take my homerun title.” He laughed, low and deep in the back of his throat as he pulled his wallet from his jeans and threw some bills on the table. “We should go. You need your beauty sleep.”

Bucky slid out of his seat and followed Steve out of the bar, relishing the calls of ‘good luck’ and ‘kick their ass, Barnes’ that followed them out the door. They walked a few feet down the sidewalk, coming to a stop in the shadows.

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Thanks for coming out with us, Buck,” he said. “It’s always good for the rookie to spend some time with his teammates, get to know ‘em.”

Bucky could feel the heat from Steve’s hand seeping into him, and Jesus Christ if he didn’t want to feel that heat on other parts of him, parts currently covered by his clothes. His dick was hardening just thinking about it. Without thinking, he took a step closer, closing the distance between them to mere inches. He was so close he could hear Steve’s breath rasping in and out of his throat, he could see the way his pupils were blown wide, he could breathe in Steve’s intoxicating scent, letting it fill his nose. He wanted to breathe it in all night long.

“I...I, sh-should go,” Steve stammered. He dropped his hand from Bucky’s shoulder, his fingers lingering for a moment, tracing a line down Bucky’s bare arm, making him shiver. He yanked his hat off of his head and ran a shaking hand through his dark blond hair, his eyes dancing across Bucky’s face. “I’ll, uh, I’ll see ya tomorrow, Buck.”

And then he was gone.

Bucky closed his eyes, stumbling backwards until his back hit the bar’s brick wall, his hands flattening against it, his nails digging into the solidness of it as he tried to ground himself to something real, something concrete, before he floated away. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart, ease his frazzled nerves, restore the balance to his soul.

_I'm fucking screwed._


	3. Cleanup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The realization that he might be attracted to Bucky hits Steve hard, so hard he retreats and acts like an ass. He has a rough game because of it.

 

Steve had a ritual. Get out of bed early, go for a run, five miles at least, more if he had time, then a protein shake before he showered and left for the day. Practice, game day, off-season, it didn’t matter, it was always the same. If they were away, the miles were run on the treadmill in the hotel gym, or even sometimes the field where they were playing. The ritual kept him grounded, prepared him for the day to come. He needed it like the air he breathed.

But not this morning. For the first time in, well, ever, Steve overslept, exhaustion making him punch the snooze button so many times his alarm finally shut itself off. He hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, tossing and turning, his thoughts filled with nothing but Bucky.

The rookie had gotten under his skin and it was driving him crazy. He couldn’t stop thinking about  _ that _  moment between the two of them, the moment when there had been a colossal shift in their dynamics, the moment when he’d realized there could be something there, something between the two of them. 

It had scared the shit out of him.

Not only was Bucky easy on the eyes, but Steve genuinely liked him. He was smart, funny, and incredibly cocky, which on anyone else would have driven him crazy, but for some reason he admired the shit out of it in Bucky. By the time they’d left Ashton’s, Steve was half crazy with desire and he’d wanted nothing more than a chance to get his mouth on the rookie. The heat between them was palpable and Steve wasn’t sure he could fight it.

Maybe that was what had scared him, what had made him run, backing away from Bucky and hightailing it out of there. He barely remembered how he got home, the drive back to his apartment nothing but a blur. He was drowning in his desperate need to taste Bucky’s lips, to lean into him and kiss him senseless. A need he’d turned his back on and fled from.

Steve dragged himself out of bed, standing in the shower far longer than necessary, moving around the apartment like he was still half asleep, downing an energy drink Sam had left in his fridge, before finally making his way downstairs, and hailing a cab. No way was he going to drive in this state.

Once he was in the locker room, he threw his stuff in his locker, put his earbuds in, and made his way to the treadmills. He set the machine for a half an hour - not as long as he’d like, but it would have to do - turned his music up as loud as he could stand it, and started running. Within five minutes, he’d fallen into a rhythm, counting every time his left foot hit the rubber, Bucky’s blue eyes and whisker-kissed cheeks finally fading from his thoughts.

He was breathing heavy by the time he made his way back into the locker room. He caught sight of Bucky out of the corner of his eyes, but he quickly looked away and hurried to his locker. He was dressed within minutes, tugging his hat down low, punching his mitt over and over, tension thrumming through his body. Time to focus.

* * *

“Jesus fucking Christ, Rogers, what the hell is wrong with you?” Stark screamed in Steve’s face, the vein in his forehead bulging, spittle flying from lips.

Steve didn’t move, he stood stiff as a statue under the onslaught of Stark’s anger, waiting until the Yankee manager had said his piece. Once Stark released him, stepping around him to return to his perch by the step, a primal scream left Steve, his glove flying through the air, hitting the bucket of sunflower seeds, knocking it into another one, the two tumbling to the ground, sunflower seeds flying everywhere.

He was having the worst game he’d had in years, since he was in college. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t get it together, and it was Bucky’s fault.

_ Fucking Bucky! _

Steve thought he’d run off all that pent up frustration when it came to the rookie, but as soon as they hit the field, he’d felt like Bucky’s eyes were crawling over his skin, eating him alive. It was all he could think about and because of that, he was severely off his game. He’d missed two balls, both going right past him, saved only because Thor had scooped them up and thrown the runners out at first. But the final straw had been the dropped ball.

He’d managed to get this one, grabbing it before it shot through the gap between him and Quill, spinning immediately to throw it to first, the ball sliding out of his hand and falling to the ground at his feet. It took him a full fifteen seconds to realize it was at his feet, long enough for the runner to slide into second, safe, and the runner on third to score, bringing the Blue Jays within one. That’s what had brought on Stark’s wrath.

Frustrated and angry, Steve bolted down the stairs, sliding around the corner and into the bathroom right by the dugout. He slammed the door and leaned over the sink, turning on the cold water and splashing it across his face and on the back of his neck. He sucked in a deep breath and slowly blew it out. He needed to get it together. Now.

“Steve!” Clint pounded on the door, calling his name. “Man, you’re on deck.”

He ripped open the door. “What the fuck are you talking about? There’s at least two guys up in front of me.”

“Pitcher’s losin’ it,” Clint said. “Walked Dugan and Quill. Buck’s up.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Two and two. You’re hitting clean up, or did you forget?”

“I’m coming,” Steve muttered, pushing past his friend and hurrying back to the dugout. He snatched his bat out of Parker’s hand, swinging it side to side as he stepped into the on deck circle, pretending Tony Stark wasn’t shooting daggers out of his eyes at him and praying he could stand there and not drool over the rookie at the plate.

_ Fat chance of that. _

Shit, Bucky was a sight to behold. The jersey he was wearing fit tight across his shoulders, stretching it to its limits when he raised the bat to swing. His pants, those damn baseball pants, hugged his ass, accenting the curve of it beneath his lower back. Steve couldn’t look away as Bucky settled into his stance and raised the bat.

_ He’s a goddamn god. _

Bucky’s swing was perfect, the ball hitting the bat dead center, the crack of the two connecting echoing through the park. Bucky fell back on his heels, watching the ball as it flew over the wall and into the seats. The crowd erupted into screams, chanting Bucky’s name as he rounded the bases. He stepped on home base, his teammates meeting him, congratulating him on his first home run in the majors. Even Steve joined in, though he kept his distance. Bucky raised his hat to the crowd, the biggest smile on his face as he ducked into the dugout.

They managed to win the game, thanks to two home runs from Bucky and a phenomenal play from Steve - a crazy leap off the ground, the ball landing perfectly in his glove, his throw to Barton at first the most precise he’d thrown all day - a play that apparently redeemed him in Stark’s eyes. Thank God. They retreated to the locker room as winners.

Steve was shoving his crap into a duffel bag after he’d showered and dressed, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Clint was standing behind him, arms crossed, grinning. “Hey, we’re taking the kid out to celebrate his first game. You coming?”

“Nah,” Steve shook his head. “I need some sleep. You guys have fun.”

* * *

He managed to avoid Bucky like the bubonic plague for the next three days, through the end of the four game series against the Blue Jays. He only spoke to him when absolutely necessary, and more often than not, that amounted to a grunt or a head nod, nothing more, not even looking the rookie in the eye. By the time they boarded the plane to fly to California after game four, he was exhausted from avoiding the young player. As for Bucky, he looked like someone had killed his dog.

“What’s the matter with you?” Clint muttered, bumping his elbow into Steve’s. “You haven’t been able to sit still since we got on the damn plane. I’d like to get some fucking sleep.”

Steve glanced over his shoulder. Bucky was sitting alone in the back of the plane, head resting against the back of the seat, eyes closed. He had his earbuds in and his phone in his hand. The pilot had dimmed the lights once the plane had reached cruising altitude and the majority of the team was asleep or almost asleep.

“It’s the kid, isn’t it?” Clint asked. “How bad is it?”

“Bad,” Steve shrugged.

_ Bad is an understatement _ .

“Did something happen between you two the other night?” Clint sat up straighter, his brows furrowed together, lips pursed. “What did you fucking do, Rogers?”

“Jesus, Clint, nothing,” Steve grumbled. “Not a goddamn thing, I swear. There was just a...I don’t know, a moment, I guess…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

“You’ve been avoiding the poor guy over a  _ moment _ ?” Clint shook his head. “You know he thinks you fucking hate him? He’s been tearing himself up, thinks you don’t like him, that you’ve been pretending to tolerate him for the sake of the team.” Clint exhaled slowly. “Did you tell him you’re bi?”

“No,” Steve mumbled.

“You know he’s gay, right?”

“Yeah, he told me. He tell you?” Steve wasn’t surprised. Bucky had said he didn’t hide the fact that he was gay, unlike Steve.

“The whole team knows,” Clint replied. “And guess what? We’re totally cool with it. Maybe it’s time you come clean, too.”

Steve rubbed a hand over his face, not sure what to say. He stole another glance at Bucky.

_ Christ, he looks like shit. I did that. Me. I’m an asshole. _

“Go talk to him, Steve,” Clint said, turning his back on his friend, punching the pillow beneath his head several times and pulling the thin blanket up over his shoulder. “He deserves that much.”

Steve sat in his seat for all of thirty seconds, knee bouncing, fingers tapping on the armrest, before he pushed himself to his feet and headed to the back of the plane.

Bucky had isolated himself back there, leaving three rows of seats between himself and the other players, tucking himself into a seat by the window, in the corner, deep in the shadows. He was staring out the window at the dark sky, the air out there as black as Steve’s soul felt.

He slipped into the row of seats, sitting in the middle one, bumping his shoulder into Bucky’s. The kid jumped and yanked the earbuds out of his ears, turning to face Steve.

“Rogers,” he nodded. “Can I help you with something?” His tone was cold, standoffish, irritated. Steve prayed it was a show put on especially for him.

“I’ve been a dick,” Steve whispered.

Bucky stiffened beside him, sitting up a little straighter, his hands holding the armrests in a death grip, his knuckles white. “Go on,” he said.

“Look, Buck,” he continued, “I’ve been an asshole. I feel...well, there’s an attraction there, I mean here -” Steve blew out a long breath, shaking his head. “Fuck it. I’m attracted to you Bucky. The other night, when we were out with the team for beers, I felt, well, I felt like there was a moment there between us, when you might have felt the same way.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Bucky murmured. “Are you -?” He cleared his throat and dropped his voice. “Are you gay?”

“I’m a bisexual,” Steve explained, glancing around to see if anyone was listening, but they were truly isolated, alone, sitting in the back of the dark plane. “But nobody knows. Well, Clint and Sam know. And now you.”

“So, you’re telling me this because…?”

Steve swallowed around the knot of anxiety in his throat. “I’m telling you this because… shit. My family is Irish Catholic, old school, believes that homosexuality of any kind is a one way ticket to Hell. I know it’s not an excuse for treating you as I have been, but I do hope that you’ll understand that it’s the main reason why I’m scared.”

“You’re scared?” Bucky whispered.

“Yeah,” Steve laughed nervously. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared. Not even when I played my first game in the majors. I’m fucking terrified.”

Bucky shifted in his seat to face Steve, the death grip on the armrest finally loosening. “So, you’ve never… been in a relationship with another guy?”

“A relationship?” Steve repeated, squeezing the back of his neck. “No, not really. I’ve had sex with other guys, women, too. But, after being with a man, I get the stereotypical Catholic guilt, find the nearest church, and confess my sins.”

“Wow, that’s intense,” Bucky commented, his eyes going wide for a moment. “Where does that leave us? This?” he motioned to the small gap between them.

“I can’t deny that there’s something here,” Steve said, a small smile on his lips, the pinky of his left hand stretching out to touch the back of Bucky’s. 

Bucky’s eyes drifted to their hands, finding that his own had shifted closer of its own accord. “I’m glad I’m not the only one feeling that way.”

“How about this?” Steve proposed, his eyes sparkling in the shitty lighting. “Let’s get to know each other,  _ really _  get to know one another, and see where that takes us.”

The way Bucky smiled made a herd of butterflies explode in Steve’s gut. “Yeah, I’d really like that, Stevie.”

Steve grinned at the nickname and took Bucky’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together, squeezing it gently. He released it almost immediately, but left his forearm on the armrest, his pinky finger brushing against Bucky’s every so often.

_ Baby steps. _


	4. First Base

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky plan a dinner date.

 

Bucky’s stomach was still somersaulting wildly, and it wasn’t from the turbulent plane ride across the country. He and Steve had talked, really talked, for a huge chunk of the more than six hour flight from New York to Los Angeles. They’d covered everything from growing up, their family, past relationships, to what drew them to baseball. He’d finally fallen asleep, slumped in his seat, head against the window, with only an hour or so left in the flight.

He woke as the plane was descending, the sudden drop in altitude startling him, his eyes popping open in surprise. He turned to his right to say something to the man sitting next to him, but Steve was no longer there. At some point during the night, while he’d been sleeping, Steve had returned to his seat by Clint. He shouldn’t have been surprised, they’d talked about this, baby steps, getting to know each other better, not rushing into anything, not revealing anything to the rest of the team.

While Bucky understood Steve’s hesitation - he’d dated more than one guy with one hang-up or another during the years, especially back in high school - it didn’t change the fact that he didn’t like it. He was so head over heels for Steve that he wanted to shout it from the roof of the plane. He shifted uneasily, adjusting the seat belt around his waist, peering through the seats at the back of Steve’s head. God, this wasn’t going to be easy.

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face and rotated his neck and shoulders, grimacing at the ache that had settled deep in the center of his head. He was grateful that they didn’t have a game until the next day; he just wanted to go to the hotel and sleep in a nice soft bed for a couple of hours.

Once they were on the ground and at the gate, Bucky slung his backpack over his shoulder and shoved his earbuds in his ears. What he really wanted to do was catch up with Steve, take his hand, and follow him wherever he wanted to go. Instead, he turned his music up and followed the rest of the team off of the plane, his eyes never leaving the back of Steve’s head, not even after they boarded the bus for the hotel.

_ Baby steps. _

* * *

“Bucky!”

Steve slipped through the elevator doors just before they closed, spinning and smacking the ‘close door’ button before anyone else could get in with them. He stood beside Bucky, shoulder to shoulder, shuffling his feet, staring at the rising numbers above the door.

“What are you doing tonight?” he finally asked.

They’d just returned from practice, three hours at the ballpark, and Bucky was tired, the headache still lingering behind his eyes. He’d been thinking about showering and maybe getting some sleep, but he certainly wouldn’t pass up the chance to spend time with Steve.

“No plans,” he murmured. 

“There’s this restaurant a few blocks over,” Steve explained. “The food is great, it’s quiet, off the beaten path. I thought we could grab some dinner.”

Bucky’s heart stuttered wildly in his chest, thumping out of control. He clenched his fists at his side, willing it to slow down before it pounded out of his chest.

“That’s sounds great,” he answered.

The elevator opened and they stepped out, strolling slowly down the hall toward their rooms. They stopped outside Steve’s, his keycard spinning between nervous fingers, tapping against his leg. Steve cleared his throat.

“Eight?” he asked. “In the lobby?”

Bucky nodded and stepped closer to Steve, but he opened his door and ducked inside, the door closing in his face. A few seconds later, Maximoff, Banner, and Barton rounded the corner.

_ Shit, how’d he know? _

“Buck!” Pietro called. “You should come get drinks with us. We’re going to a club downtown.”

“Nah, thanks though,” he replied. “I’ve got a headache, think I need to get some sleep. Another time though.”

Pietro and Bruce spent a few minutes halfheartedly trying to get him to join them, but he was able to beg off without too many questions, the three of them seeming to take his explanation of a headache at face value. Except Barton, who dropped a wink over his shoulder as they set off for the elevators, leaving Bucky alone outside of his room.

He tried to sleep, stretched out on the bed, some mindless reality cooking show on the TV, but to no avail. He felt like a kid about to go to Disneyland for the first time, all nervous anticipation, butterflies in his stomach, frightened of the unknown, and insane curiosity. He’d never felt like this before a date; Bucky Barnes was always cool and confident, a swagger in his step and a cocky grin on his face. That was so not how he was feeling right now.

Bucky snatched his phone off the bedside table, pulled Gamora up from his contacts, and hit the call button.

“James,” she purred. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Don’t call me James,” Bucky chuckled. “You working?” Gamora was a nurse, working second shift at a children’s hospital in New York. 

“Yeah, but it’s quiet,” Gamora replied. “What’s up? Did you have a game today?”

“Tomorrow,” he answered. “I, uh, have a date tonight.”

Gamora burst out laughing. “You do not waste any time, Buck. Somebody from the team?”

“It’s Steve.”

His best friend’s laughter cut off abruptly, like someone had hit a mute button on her. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “You have a date with Steve Rogers? So, he is gay?”

“He’s bi, Gam,” Bucky corrected, “but that’s not why I called. I’m so fucking nervous I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

“Wait? You’re nervous? You don’t get nervous about shit like that. Only when you’re about to play a big game or something, but never dating.” He could almost see her shaking her head, her purple and black hair flying around her face. “What’s going on, Lefty?”

Bucky smiled at her use of his childhood nickname, one only her and her sister ever used. He closed his eyes, but quickly opened them when Steve’s face appeared behind his eyelids.

“Well, for starters, no one knows he’s bisexual, except a couple of close friends. So, I’ve got the whole ‘hide my sexuality’ thing going on, which I’ve never had to do, so I’m nervous as fuck about screwing that up. And, I don’t know, it’s Steve Rogers, Gam. I’ve been lusting after this guy for two years. What if...what if the reality of being with Steve doesn’t live up to the fantasy I created in my head? I mean, I pictured this cool, confident guy comfortable with his sexuality and instead Steve’s all fucked up with religious guilt that he can’t get past. Shit, he said he can’t be with a guy without confessing his ‘sins’ as soon as it’s over. He’s not the guy I thought he was.”

“No, he’s not the guy you want him to be,” Gamora offered quietly. “He’s a real person, Buck, with real feelings, and real problems. I’m sure this is hard for him. You’re just gonna have to be patient or you’ll scare him away.”

“I know, Gam,” he sighed. “I know.”

“Just, don’t be a dick, Buck,” Gamora said. “Give him his space, take it slow.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna be hard,” Bucky growled.

“Suck it up,” Gamora scolded him. A faint pinging noise went off in the background. “Look, I gotta go. Call me later, tell me how things went.” The call disconnected.

Bucky tossed the phone on the bed, rolled over, and pulled the pillow over his head. Exhausted from too much worrying and his frazzled nerves, he dozed off.

* * *

Bucky woke up late, much later than he’d wanted to. He had to rush to shower, foregoing shaving to save time. After throwing on a clean shirt and a pair of jeans - all he’d brought with him - and pacing nervously in front of the window for five minutes, fidgeting with the cuffs on his shirtsleeves, scrubbing a hand over his whiskered cheeks, or running it through his long brown hair, he yanked open the door, stepped into the hallway, and walked right into Steve.

“Oh, shit, sorry.” He stumbled back a few steps, crossing the threshold back into his room. 

Steve reached out and grabbed his arm, tugging him upright before he fell on his ass. “Sorry, Buck,” he chuckled.

“Hey, hi, I was, uh, just headed downstairs,” Bucky grinned.

“Yeah, um, about dinner,” Steve mumbled. “I thought we’d eat here, instead of the restaurant. I, uh, ordered a couple of pizzas. Hope you like pepperoni.”

“Um...okay, I guess,” he mumbled. “Is something wrong?”

Steve blew out a breath and nervously pushed a hand through his hair, his eyes darting from side to side, up and down the hallway. “Look, why don’t you come in my room and we can talk?”

Bucky nodded and followed Steve, letting the door click closed behind him. He crossed the room, his eyes on the ugly mauve and orange carpet, and took a seat on one of the chairs by the window. He rubbed his clammy hands up and down his denim covered legs, shifting uneasily as he watched Steve pacing in front of the bed.

_ He’s scared. _

“You’re not ready, are you?” Bucky mumbled.

“No,” Steve shook his head. “I thought I was -”

“It’s just dinner,” Bucky shrugged.

“It’s more than that,” Steve sighed. “And you know it. It’s everything that goes with it -”

Bucky rose to his feet. “I get it, Steve. I do. You’re not the first guy I’ve dated who’s had a hard time with openly being with a man. But I won’t live a lie, and if that makes you uncomfortable, then we might as well end this before it begins.”

Steve jumped to his feet and grabbed Bucky’s hand, stopping him before he could try and leave.

_ So much for a dramatic exit. _

“Would you just wait, please?” he said, squeezing Bucky’s hand. “Just...baby steps, right?”

Bucky didn’t get a chance to answer because there was a sharp knock at the door. Steve sighed heavily, released Bucky’s hand, and dragged his wallet out of his back pocket. He hurried to the door, peering through the peephole before yanking it open. Bucky could hear him talking quietly with someone, laughing.

“Yeah, I’m that Steve Rogers,” Bucky heard him say, then the scratch of a pen on paper before the door slammed closed. He didn’t look at Bucky, just set the pizzas on the table and grabbed two beers from the mini-fridge.

“C’mon, at least eat some pizza,” he gestured to the boxes on the table as he slipped into one of the chairs.

Bucky sat across from him, took the beer that Steve offered, and grabbed a slice of pizza from the box. He took a huge bite, watching Steve as he chewed.

“Not as good as Antonio’s” he mumbled around a mouthful of food.

The comment seemed to calm Steve nerves, for the moment anyway, as well as launching them into a discussion about the best pizza in Brooklyn, the best bar to get drunk at, and whose high school had the better football team. They talked until both boxes of pizza were empty and beer bottles littered the table. It was the evening Bucky had hoped for, except for the part where they were hiding out in a hotel room, afraid to face the truth of who they really were or who they could really be.

_ Not my style. _

“I think I’m gonna go, Steve,” Bucky said, shoving his chair back and standing up. “This was...nice, but -”

“But it’s not what you expected,” Steve finished, eyes downcast, his finger tracing the seam on the leg of his jeans

“You’re right, it’s not what I expected,” he agreed. “Like I said, Stevie, I get it. And before I get in too deep and I can’t get out, I’m gonna go.” 

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Buck, you don’t understand, I’ve been hiding the real me my whole life. I don’t know anything else. I don’t know how to do anything else.  _ Be _  anything else.”

“Maybe you don’t want to be anything else,” Bucky muttered.

“You don’t get it,” Steve ground out through gritted teeth. “My family, they just wouldn’t understand. My dad, my mom, they’re...they’re old school. My whole life -”

“- is a lie,” Bucky finished. “A lie I don’t want to be a part of.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Steve shrugged. “My life is a lie. I’ve never been in a relationship with a man, I’ve always taken off before it could get serious. I do the same thing with women, because that doesn’t even feel right. I need to figure out what I’m doing.”

“Well, call me when you figure it out,” Bucky sighed, spinning on his heel and heading for the door. “Until then, I guess we just keep avoiding each other.”

Steve caught him just before he reached the door, his hand closing around his arm for the third time that night, stopping him.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” Steve whispered. “I wanted things to be different this time, I really did.”

Bucky didn’t know if it was something in Steve’s voice, or some gut feeling telling him not to go, but he hesitated, long enough for Steve to lace their fingers together and pull Bucky closer, swinging him around, so they were face to face.

“Don’t go,” he begged, one hand falling to rest on Bucky’s hip, flexing and unflexing. Bucky wasn’t sure if he was going to push him away or pull him closer. “I don’t think you should go.”

A low, feral growl flew past Bucky’s lips, and before he could stop himself, his hands were on Steve’s waist, shoving him backwards, slamming him into the wall, his knee pushed between Steve’s legs, his body flush against Steve’s.

“Bucky…” His name was nothing more than a gasp of exhaled air from Steve’s mouth, the touch of it to his lips igniting a fire deep in Bucky’s gut.

“Just…” Bucky swallowed past the rising lump in his throat, willing himself to fight the urge to tear Steve’s shirt from his body and suck dark marks into his perfect skin. “Christ, Steve just shut up and don’t think for a minute.” 

His lips crashed into Steve’s, his hunger for the man he’d trapped against the wall all-encompassing. They battled for control, teeth gnashing, noses bumping, tongues tangling, both of them moaning and gasping. Bucky broke off the kiss, his lips moving up Steve’s jaw, biting gently at the sensitive skin of his neck. He caught Steve’s earlobe between his teeth, sucking greedily.

“I don’t want to go, Stevie,” Bucky rasped. “I wanna stay here and take you apart piece by piece. I want to peel your clothes from your body, let my hands linger on your skin -”

Steve let out another groan and Bucky thought that Steve was going to push him away, tell him to stop, and for a second, it seemed as if that was exactly what he was going to do, but instead he slid his arm around Bucky’s waist, dragging him closer.

_ Fuck, he’s hard as a fucking rock. _

Bucky could feel it, he could feel Steve’s need for him; it was coming off of him in waves. It was in the way he was digging his fingers into Bucky’s hips, in the way he was chasing Bucky’s lips, his breath warm against Bucky’s cheek, it was in the hard, rigid line of his cock straining against the zipper on his jeans. Steve wanted him and Bucky wanted it too. But he wasn’t gonna push him, because he’d only end up pushing him away if did what he really wanted to do. He didn’t want to lose Steve.

His fingers were on Steve’s hips, the tips of them hovering just above his jeans, his thumb on the button, waiting for permission, waiting for Steve to say the word. He kissed the corner of Steve’s mouth, his tongue tracing his lower lip, the silence between them nearly deafening.

The harsh, shrill ring of the room’s phone broke through the silence, dragging them back into reality, the light in the room suddenly too bright, the air too thick, the taste of their desire still on their lips.

Bucky’s hands dropped to his sides and he took a step back, his fingers twitching at his sides as he resisted the urge to close the distance again. Steve’s pupils were blown completely out, his bottom lip between his teeth, his chest heaving. He pushed away from the wall, stepping around Bucky to snatch the phone from its cradle.

“H-hello?” Steve could barely talk; his throat tight with lust, his hands shaking so bad it looked as if he was having a hard time holding the phone. He held Bucky’s unwavering gaze, his desire for him still coming off of him in waves.

“Hey, T-tony,” he mumbled. He cleared his throat. “No, no, I’m fine. What’s up?” He listened quietly for a few minutes, his brow furrowing, his hand tightening noticeably on the handset. “No, I understand. Yeah, yeah, you know me, team player until the end. You gonna tell him?” Another pause. “Yeah, see tomorrow. Good night.” He dropped the phone back in place.

“What did Tony want?” Bucky asked.

Steve straightened up to his full height, his head tipped to one side, a tired grin on his face. “He’s, uh, replacing me in the lineup. Moving me out of cleanup, I’m gonna be hitting in the leadoff position.”

Bucky pushed himself away from the wall. “Who’s he moving to cleanup?”

“You,” Steve replied.


	5. Change Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky spend the day together.

 

As much as Steve hated to admit it, moving Bucky to the cleanup position in the batting order had been the right move. The Yankees won all three games against the Angels and the next three against Oakland, shutting them out in every game. The kid had hit at least one home run in every game, and in a couple of them, he’d hit two, if not more. By the time they returned to New York, Buck was a bonafide sensation. His face was splashed across every paper in the country, he was a constant presence on ESPN, and there had been talk of a Sports Illustrated cover.

Of course, the press had been all over Steve, wondering what he thought of the team’s newest player, and every interviewer asked him what he thought of being replaced in the batting order by a rookie.  Always the team player, he’d smiled and said that it was a great decision, in the best interest of the team, and he was excited that the rookie was playing so well.

Except, he wasn’t handling it well at all. His game was off, he was constantly on edge, and the change had driven a wedge between he and Bucky, bringing whatever burgeoning  _ thing _  had been happening between them to a screeching halt. Of course, that was more his fault than Bucky’s. Not only was he pissed that he’d been replaced in the lineup, but he was irrationally irritated that Bucky had a healthy grasp on his sexuality. Steve envied him. So, he’d made stupid excuses the few times Bucky had suggested they get together and he’d been careful not to be alone with the younger player. Bucky was oblivious to it; he seemed to have a perpetual smile on his face, and a constant crowd of people around him.

But, God, he missed Bucky. He didn’t just miss Bucky, he ached for him. No one had ever made him feel the way Bucky did, no one had ever gotten under his skin like Bucky had. Which was why the day after they returned to New York from the road trip, he was standing in front of the rookie’s hotel room door, shifting from foot to foot, hand up, poised to knock.

Steve dragged in a deep, stuttering breath, blew it out slowly, and knocked, three short raps on the thick wood. The second his hand hit the door, he contemplated turning and running; he wasn’t sure he could control himself when it came to Bucky and that thought scared the shit out of him.

The door opened, almost as if Bucky had been standing there waiting for him. Steve jumped back several feet, a curse on his lips and a blush heating his cheeks.

“Steve? Hi!” The genuine smile on Bucky’s face made Steve’s stomach do a lazy flip.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve returned the smile. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab some lunch?”

“Man, I’d love to, but I’m heading out to look at apartments,” Bucky sighed. “Unless you want to come with me?” Bucky’s bright blue eyes were wide and questioning, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve responded.

_ Anything to spend time with you. _

The smile on Bucky’s face grew impossibly wider. He grabbed his jacket and stepped out of the room, pulling the door closed behind him.

“After you,” Steve said, gesturing down the hall.

* * *

“Come on, be serious,” Bucky laughed, his key halfway in the door, “That last one we looked at was by far the best, right?”

“You mean the one with the purple bathroom? Sure, that place was great,” Steve mumbled, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “You have to live there though, so it’s up to you.”

“Well, I’m tired of living in a hotel,” Bucky said. “Though the maid service is great.” He pushed the door open, hesitating before stepping inside. “Do you, uh, wanna come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” Steve tried to keep his voice from shaking, though he wasn’t sure he succeeded. He followed Bucky inside, shrugged out of his jacket, and dropped it on a chair.

He and Bucky had spent the entire day together. They’d gone apartment hunting, meeting up with a real estate agent in the hotel lobby, Bucky introducing him as a friend. They’d even managed to squeeze in lunch, some hole in the wall place that Steve had never heard of but Bucky claimed had the best burgers in town. After lunch, and Steve grudgingly admitting that they were the best burgers he’d had in a long time, they hit up a few other apartments that Bucky had scoped out on his own. They finished the day at a chinese food place near Yankee stadium before taking a cab back to Bucky’s hotel.

Steve wasn’t sure what to do with himself, so he stood in the center of the room, feeling awkward and out of place. Bucky was talking, but he wasn’t hearing what he was saying; there was a roaring sound in his ears and he was sweating bullets. He closed his eyes, trying to picture himself calm and centered.

“You okay?” Bucky asked, just inches from Steve’s ear.

He jumped, a startled, slightly choked laugh coming out of him. “Honestly?” he chuckled. “I’m a little nervous.”

Bucky grinned, edging even closer, his fingers curling around Steve’s, his lips brushing against Steve’s cheek. “Mmm, c’mon Steve, don’t be nervous. I don’t bite.” His lips slid up Steve’s jaw and pressed against his ear. “Unless you want me to.”

Steve snorted, a laugh bursting out of him. A second later, Bucky joined him, their laughter filling the room, easing the tension.

“Look, Buck, I wanted to apologize,” Steve said. “I was a dick the last couple of days. Again. I was upset about being moved in the batting order, and I’m still not sure what we’re doing, you and me, and I reacted by staying away from you.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky smiled. “I’d be pissed at me, too, if I was you. That cleanup spots been yours for awhile and I’m just some asshole rookie -”

“No, you’re not,” Steve interrupted. “You’re good, really good, and it’s obvious you deserve to bat in the number four position. A lot of what I’m feeling is all mixed up with my personal issues. I’m working through them, or trying to anyway.” He shrugged one shoulder, the corner of his mouth tipping up in a lopsided grin. “I thought I did pretty good today.”

“Yeah, you did great,” Bucky chuckled. “Night’s still young, though, you could still screw up.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. He wrapped a hand around the back of Bucky’s head and pulled him close. “I’ll try not to,” he whispered, his lips brushing across Bucky’s.

Bucky moaned and stepped into Steve, chest to chest, his hands on Steve’s hips, tugging him close, the kiss deepening quickly; it was as if the entire day had been building to this moment. As far as Steve was concerned, it had been.

The next thing Steve knew they were stumbling toward the bed, arms and legs tangled, lips crashing together. Bucky pushed him backwards, shoving him onto the bed, straddling Steve’s thighs. He yanked impatiently at Steve’s t-shirt, pushing it up and over his head. 

Bucky’s touch was like fire, dancing along Steve’s skin, scorching everything in its path, igniting the need that had been steadily building, boiling just under the surface, ready to blow at any minute. Steve’s head surged up, catching Bucky’s lips in his, his tongue pushing in, fingers gripping the hem of Bucky’s shirt. 

“No fair,” he pouted, ripping at the buttons on the front until Bucky’s shirt hit the floor a second later.

Their hands were everywhere, touching, squeezing, pulling, their hunger and impatience for each other driving their need. Steve reached up and pulled the binder from Bucky’s hair, freeing the chestnut locks and breathing in the scent of his shampoo. He wanted to bury his face in it, run the strands between his fingers, and twirl them around, getting lost in the luxurious softness, getting lost in Bucky. 

Bucky rolled his hips, drawing a low guttural groan from Steve. He was going to fucking combust. He dug his fingers into the kid’s hips and flipped him to his back, his own back curving as he settled between Bucky’s thighs. He dragged his tongue along the line of Bucky’s throat, the salty tang of his skin intoxicating him further.

“Christ, Bucky,” he grunted, “I’m gonna explode.”

Bucky was growling in the back of his throat, his blunt fingers digging into Steve’s hips, pulling him closer, one hand on the back of Steve’s head, fingers scratching at the short hairs on the back of his neck.  

“I want it, Buck,” Steve whispered. “I want you.” He tore at Bucky’s jeans, impatient, greedy, the button stubbornly refusing to open. Steve’s cock was aching, pulsing, desperate to feel Bucky’s hands on it, desperate for Bucky.

To his surprise, Bucky put his hands on Steve’s and pulled them away from the waistband of his jeans.

“Steve, stop,” he rasped.

It took a second for the words to sink into Steve’s overheated brain; by the time they did, he had Bucky’s jeans undone, his hand splayed across the kid’s stomach. Bucky pressed a kiss to his lips and rolled to his side, taking Steve with him.

Steve closed his eyes, his grip on Bucky tightening. He was afraid to let him go. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I thought you -”

Bucky stopped him with another kiss, his forehead resting against Steve’s. “Fuck, Stevie, I do,” he murmured. “But, just...not yet.”

“Not yet?” Steve kept his eyes closed, afraid to look in Bucky’s eyes, afraid of what he’d see, afraid of the rejection he’d see in Bucky’s eyes.

“I don’t want to be a mistake,” Bucky said. “I don’t want you to rush out of here, go straight to the nearest church and confess your sins because you feel guilty for what you did. What we did.” He sighed and dragged his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I’m sorry -”

“Don’t.” Steve shook his head and opened his eyes. “I understand. I don’t...I don’t want that anymore than you do.” He pushed himself up, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

Bucky’s hand closed around his wrist. “I didn’t ask you to go,” he mumbled. “I don’t  _ want _  you to go. I just want to take things slow. Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve grinned. “Slow it is.”

* * *

Bucky was asleep, pillow pulled over his head, snoring, the faint light from the television illuminating his tanned skin. It was after two in the morning when Steve had finally woken up, crawled out of the bed, and slipped into the bathroom.

He splashed some water on his face and ran a wet hand through his hair, fighting it to lay down and stay put. While he and Bucky had agreed to take things slow and agreed to not have sex, that hadn’t stopped them from making out like a couple of horny teenagers. Which was what he currently felt like, a goddamned horny teenager covered in hickeys, all conveniently located below the neckline.

Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to leave, wasn’t sure he wanted to go back to his place. What he wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep next to Bucky, his nose buried in his hair, memorizing the way he smelled, memorizing every little thing about him, from the way he laughed when Steve traced a finger across his ribs to the way he’d moan, the sound rumbling out of his chest, every time Steve nibbled at the sensitive skin beneath his ear. He could have stayed there all night.

But, they had a game tomorrow night -  _ tonight, idiot, it’s two in the morning _  - and he had an early meeting, at his apartment, with his agent, a meeting he couldn’t miss. His contract was up at the end of the season and Natasha was getting ready for the intense negotiations that were inevitably going to happen. So, despite his urge to stay with Bucky, he had to go.

Once he was dressed, shirt, shoes and jacket back on, he scribbled a note on the hotel notepad and propped it against the bathroom mirror, then he slipped out the door as quietly as he could. He took the elevator to the parking garage and within minutes, his was on his way home.

Two blocks before his apartment, he passed the Catholic church he sometimes attended. Normally, after spending the night with a guy, he’d duck inside and say a few Hail Marys, or maybe even seek out a priest, hoping to absolve himself of the intense guilt overwhelming him. Tonight, for the first time, he drove past without a glance.

 


	6. Homerun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky realizes that his new position with the Yankees is forcing him to keep secrets and he doesn’t like it. Steve goes to Bucky’s new apartment for dinner.

“Where are we putting the empty boxes, Lefty?” Nebula yelled from the other room.

“Out in the hall,” Bucky replied. “Building manager said he’d take care of them.” He returned his attention to the box of dishes he was putting in the cupboard.

“How’d the interview go today?” Gamora asked. She was sitting on the tile floor, shoving pots and pans into a cupboard. Bucky had a feeling he was going to have to rearrange them after she left.

Of course Gamora would ask. It wasn’t everyday that your best friend was interviewed by Sports Illustrated. “It went pretty well,” he shrugged. “Typical questions, for the most part.”

“For the most part?” Gamora repeated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky took a deep breath. He might as well tell her, it was going to come out in a month or so anyway. She could be pissed now or pissed later. “The reporter asked me if I was dating anyone,” he said quietly. “And if so, what _her_ name was.”

Gamora dropped the pot in her hand back into the box and Nebula suddenly appeared out of nowhere, her supersonic hearing apparently kicking into gear. “What did you say? Did you...did you come out to Sports Illustrated?”

“First of all, I am already out,” Bucky sighed. “Remember? I don’t hide my sexuality. But, I didn’t come right out and tell them I was gay -”

“Did you tell them you’re dating Steve Rogers?” Nebula said hopefully.

“No, I didn’t say that either,” he shook his head. “I’m not going to out Steve. It’s not my place to do something like that. I just said I was dating _someone_ , but I preferred to keep that part of my life private.”

“Wait? You lied?” Gamora was on her feet and Bucky could tell she was ready to take his head off. “You didn’t tell them you’re gay?”

“I didn’t lie,” Bucky muttered. “I just omitted that part.”

“Omitting that you’re gay is as bad as lying about it,” she groused. “Why would you do that, Buck?”

“Because I don’t want the focus on our team to be about their gay rookie center fielder,” he snapped. He threw the plate in his hand on the kitchen counter, hard enough to shatter it into several pieces. “I don’t want my ball playing to be about me being a gay man playing baseball. I’m a damn good baseball player, Gam. Damn good. But if I reveal that I’m gay, suddenly, that’s all it’s gonna be about. Not that I can hit homeruns, not that I’m can catch just about any ball that comes my way, not all the hard work I’ve done to get here, but instead it’ll be that I’m _gay_ and I can do all of those things. Every fucking headline ever written about me will include the words ‘gay’ or ‘homosexual’ in some way. Forget that I’m just, you know a human being. Being gay doesn’t define me, it’s not the only thing about me, it just...is, you know? There’s a lot more to me than the fact that I’m gay.”

Gamora put her hands up and took a step back. “I’m sorry, Lefty,” she murmured. “I guess I never looked at it that way. You’ve always been so open about your sexuality and I just...I only...I didn’t want you to deny who you really are because of your job.”

“This is more than my job, Gamora,” Bucky shook his head. “Baseball is my life. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do and I won’t jeopardize that.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s that line from Shrek, about the onions?”

“Onions have layers,” Nebula piped up. “Ogres have layers.”

“That one,” Bucky said, pointing at his friend.

“So, you’re finally admitting you’re an ogre,” Nebula laughed.

“No,” Bucky chuckled. “I have layers, like an onion. Or an ogre. I’m not just baseball, or the gay guy, or...or whatever. I just wish everybody in my life would realize that. Including you, Gam.”

“I’m sorry, Buck,” Gamora nodded. “I really am.”

“I know. But, sometimes you forget that I’m your friend, not your project. Let’s work on that, okay?” He looked at his watch. “Can we finish this? Steve’s coming for dinner.”

* * *

“So, you’re sticking with the purple bathroom?” Steve chuckled, dropping onto Bucky’s newly purchased leather sofa, arm thrown over the back, his eyes on Bucky as he put the dishes in the dishwasher.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Like I’ve had time to paint?”

“Too busy?” Steve laughed, throwing himself backwards onto the couch.

Bucky shook his head and laughed as well. That was an understatement and Steve knew it. “You know damn well I have been. These are the only two rooms I’ve even unpacked and that’s only because Gamora and Nebula helped.”

The two rooms he was referring to were the kitchen and the spacious living room, basically the main living area and the reason Bucky had chosen this apartment - huge, open, big windows overlooking the city. Honestly, he was lucky to get this place and even luckier that his best friend and her sister had been willing to help him move in, sans the intense discussion about his Sports Illustrated interview. If it hadn’t been for them, he wouldn’t have been able to have Steve over for dinner after only two days after moving in because he’d be too preoccupied with unpacking boxes.

He shot a glance over his shoulder at the blonde haired, blue eyed god himself. He had stretched out on the couch, bare feet up, head on the armrest, eyes closed, perfectly relaxed. They had a rare night off before they got on the plane to fly to Florida in the morning and Bucky had decided to take full advantage of it, inviting Steve over for the first dinner he’d cooked in his apartment.

They’d been an unofficial - very unofficial - couple for a little more than three weeks. He and Steve spent every waking moment possible together, both as teammates and as, well, something else. Bucky still wasn’t quite sure what they were.

He finished the dishes and shut off the kitchen light, leaving only the two lamps burning at either end of the couch to illuminate the room. He slid to the floor beside the couch, right next to Steve’s head, grabbed his beer, and took a drink.

A few seconds later, Steve’s arm slid over Bucky’s shoulder, resting on his chest, and his lips brushed against the side of his neck. “What are you doing down there?” he murmured sleepily.

“I thought you were asleep,” Bucky said, turning to look at the man on his couch. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Only half asleep,” Steve chuckled. He ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, smiling. “You’ve been kind of quiet tonight. You okay?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged.

“Talk to me, Buck,” Steve encouraged.

“I had that Sports Illustrated interview this morning,” he explained.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, pushing himself upright, leaning forward, his arms on his knees. “Did it not go well?”

“It wasn’t what I expected.” Bucky quickly explained not only the interview, but his discussion with Gamora and Nebula afterwards, all while trying to gauge Steve’s reaction.

“So the interviewer didn’t come right out and ask you if you were gay?” Steve asked when Bucky had finished talking.

“No,” he replied. “And I didn’t volunteer the information either.”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” Steve eased behind him, his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, his thumbs working on the knots at the base of his neck.

“Kind of,” Bucky nodded. “I wasn’t joking when I said I’ve got layers, that there’s more to me than being a gay baseball player.”

“But?” Steve prompted.

“But I’m afraid I’m not being true to myself,” Bucky said. “No offense, babe, but I still hate that I have to hide our relationship.”

“No offense taken,” Steve sighed. “I understand.” There was a note of regret in his voice.

“So, between that and...and everything else, I don’t know, I’m just feeling off. I hate not being able to be myself.” He leaned his head back, staring into Steve’s cerulean eyes.

“You can be yourself when you’re with me,” Steve whispered. “I know when we’re together, it feels like the only time I can be myself. And for what’s it’s worth, I hate it, too.”

“Yeah?” Bucky murmured.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded.

Bucky swung around, his arms going around Steve, pushing him down on the couch, his hips slotted between Steve’s legs, catching his lips in an almost brutal kiss, one hand sliding beneath Steve’s shirt and up his side.

“Wow,” Steve gasped when they separated. “Christ, Buck, if you wanna take things slow, this is not the way to do it.”

“That was so three weeks ago,” Bucky growled.

“So, what are we waiting for?” Steve smirked.

“Wait? Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Bucky murmured.

“Yeah, I am,” Steve replied.

Bucky didn’t hesitate; he leapt off the couch, Steve’s hand in his, and led him to the bedroom. When he’d invited Steve for dinner, this was how he’d hoped his night would end, with Steve in his bed.

“I haven’t unpacked in here, yet,” he explained as pushed open the door and turned on the light.

“Can we get to the bed?” Steve laughed.

“Oh, hell, yeah.” Bucky wove through the boxes stacked around the room to the mattress in the corner. He was desperate to get his hands on Steve, to get his clothes off of him, all of his clothes, and Jesus Christ, all he could think about was what it would feel like to have Steve under him, to fill him completely. His dick twitched at the thought.

“Sorry,” he muttered when they came to a stop. “I haven’t had time to put the bed frame together.” He reached over his head and grabbed his shirt, dropping it to the floor, gesturing vaguely off to one side of the room. “It’s over there somewhere.”

“Don’t care,” Steve shook his head, his fingers deftly popping open the button on Bucky’s pants, his hands sliding past the waistband and into the back of his boxers, cupping Bucky’s ass, pulling him flush against his body. He caught Bucky’s lips in his, his tongue dancing along his lower lip. “Mattress is all we need.”

Bucky moaned, his mouth opening, his grip on Steve’s hips tightening, trying to do the impossible and pull Steve closer. The next few seconds were a flurry of clothes being removed and hands everywhere, Steve’s fingers in Bucky’s hair, Bucky’s fingers digging into Steve’s hips, both of them moaning and gasping.

Only once all of their clothes were discarded and they were pressed together, skin to skin, and the lube and condoms were retrieved from a box on the floor, only then did Bucky drag Steve down onto the bed, his body covering Steve’s, his aching cock brushing against Steve’s hard length, the sensation enough to make his body shudder with need.  

Bucky kissed and sucked the sensitive skin beneath Steve’s ear as he ground his hips down against him. Steve moaned and grabbed Bucky’s ass, holding him while he rocked up to meet him, their cocks sliding and rubbing against each other. Bucky couldn’t stop the filthy groan that erupted from him.

 _Fuck, he’s going to be the death of me_.

“Bucky,” Steve gasped.

“Yeah, Stevie, I know,” Bucky whispered, one hand sliding up Steve’s leg and wrapping around his cock, his finger tracing the thick vein on the underside, his lips still pressed to Steve’s neck, biting gently. Steve’s hips moved, thrusting in and out of Bucky’s closed fist, his head thrown back, eyes closed, huffing gasps coming from him. Bucky rubbed his thumb over the tip, teasing Steve, stroking him while he moved down his body, pressing wet, sloppy kisses all over his chest and stomach. He kept his eyes on Steve’s face as he took him in his mouth, one hand wrapped around the base of his cock, his thumb stroking the underside as he swirled his tongue around the tip.

Steve shifted restlessly, his fingers tangling in Bucky’s hair, tugging roughly. Bucky growled and let his hand slide lower, his thumb massaging the perineum, his finger brushing lightly against Steve’s hole. He stopped just long enough to fumble open the bottle lube and coat his fingers, then he took Steve back into his mouth as he pressed his lubed finger into him, gently thrusting and curling it. It only took a few seconds before Steve was rocking his hips, his cock pushing deeper into Bucky’s mouth, just hitting the back of his throat.

Bucky added a second finger to the first, his mouth working Steve over completely while he fucked him with two fingers. Steve was moaning, writhing beneath him, the most obscene sounds coming from him, sounds that were taking Bucky apart, making his dick fucking ache and throb.

“More,” Steve gasped.

Bucky released him, Steve’s cock falling against his stomach as Bucky pushed in a third finger, stretching him carefully, moving up his body to close his mouth over Steve’s pulse point, sucking greedily, thrusting deeper while Steve pushed down against his fingers, over and over until Steve was begging him to take him.

He pulled his fingers free, grabbed the condom, tore it open and slid it down his cock, wincing at how sensitive it felt, how close he was to the edge. It was going to take a lot of effort to keep from coming before he was ready, before he could get Steve off, but he was sure the hell going to try. He spread some lube down his dick, then he moved between Steve’s thighs, hooked an arm beneath one of Steve’s legs, and pressed the head of his cock against Steve’s hole. He looked up, right into Steve’s eyes, and he saw everything he was feeling reflected back at him. Steve reached up and wrapped a hand around the back of Bucky’s neck, his lower lip caught between his teeth as Bucky pushed in slowly, not stopping until he was flush against Steve’s ass. Steve let out a huff of breath, as if he’d been holding it, pulling Bucky down and catching his lips in deep kiss.

“Buck,” Steve rasped, his hands drifting down Bucky’s sides, digging into his ribs. He rocked his hips, his muscles tightening around Bucky, making him whimper.

Bucky pressed his lips to Steve’s ear, murmuring praises as he started thrusting, slow and tight, keeping them close together, until Steve was bucking up against him, grabbing his ass, and begging for more, begging him to take him harder and faster. Bucky braced his hands on either side of Steve’s shoulders and pulled one of his legs up around the back of his thigh, fucking into him hard. Steve moaned, his blunt nails digging into Bucky’s ass, pulling him closer, his head thrown back in ecstasy, so close to coming that his whole body was trembling.

Bucky sat up, one hand on Steve’s hip, the other wrapping around his cock to jerk Steve off until he was coming with a strangled cry, his eyes rolling back in his head, come spilling over Bucky’s hand. Bucky fucked him through it, dropping to his elbows so he could bury his face in the crook of Steve’s neck as his own orgasm roared through him, an insane wave of tingling pleasure that started at the base of his spine and rolled through him, his breath stuttering and his hips jerking against Steve.

It took him a minute to come down and to realize that his entire weight was sprawled across Steve, who to his credit, wasn’t complaining. Instead, he was running his fingers up and down Bucky’s back, and pressing kisses to the top of Bucky’s head. Bucky moaned, pushed himself back up on his elbows, and kissed Steve until they were both breathless.

Reluctantly, Bucky rose to his knees, removed the condom, tied it off, and tossed it in an empty box at the end of the bed. He snagged his t-shirt off the floor and used it to clean them both up before tossing it aside and stretching out beside Steve. He ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, smiling because Steve was smiling.

“You good?” he murmured.

“Yeah,” Steve chuckled. “I’m really good.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked. He didn’t want to express his fear out loud; his fear that Steve was going to rush out the door and go straight to confession. He was pretty sure if that happened, he’d most likely lose his mind.

Steve rolled to his side, sliding closer to Bucky, his hand resting on his hip. “I’m good, Buck,” Steve repeated. “I swear. Now, why don’t we get some sleep? We’ve got a plane to catch in the morning.” He threw a leg over Bucky’s, his hand still on Bucky’s hip, his other tucked under his cheek, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

Bucky laid awake for hours, watching Steve sleep.


	7. Balk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve run into Steve’s parents at their favorite pizza restaurant.

**_AND YOUR NEW YORK YANKEES ARE HEADED TO THE PLAYOFFS!_ **

The entire team stormed the field, a clash of bodies at home plate, grown men jumping, screaming, and hugging each other. The air was thick with excitement and even a bit of disbelief that they’d accomplished what they’d thought would be impossible. But they’d done it.

Steve had nearly knocked Bucky to the ground when he met him at home plate, scooping him up and hugging him close. It was a brief hug, because the rest of the team was on them in a split second, the celebration commencing.

Steve pressed his mouth to Bucky’s ear. “Later,” he promised.

* * *

Steve kept waiting for the guilt to come, the guilt that overwhelmed him and sent him running to the nearest church, falling into the confession booth to admit his sins, sins that were only sins to a church that couldn’t bring itself to believe in love no matter what shape it took. He waited, but it didn’t come. Things with Bucky were good, really good, and for once, it felt right, more than anything ever had before. He could see a future with Bucky, a future he longed to embrace.

Once the obligatory locker room celebration was over and they’d washed the champagne out of their hair and off their bodies, Steve met Bucky in the parking lot, the two of them sharing a brief kiss before climbing into Steve’s car and heading into Brooklyn for their own private celebration.

Their first stop was Antonio’s, the only favorite the two of them could agree on in their hometown. They found a table in the back, Steve waving at the owner as they passed the counter. They didn’t say much while they waited for the waitress to come to their table; their silences had grown more comfortable and familiar the longer they were together. The thought made Steve smile.

The waitress was a Yankees fan, of course, gushing over both of them - how much she loved them and how excited she was for the playoffs. She seemed partial to Bucky in particular, which to his surprise, made Steve a little jealous as he watched her flirt with him. When she finally took down their orders and hurried toward the kitchen, Bucky reached across the table and took Steve’s hand, squeezing it gently.

“Hey,” he whispered. “I like _you_.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “I like you, too,” he grinned, turning his hand over and intertwining his fingers with Bucky’s. “A lot.”

“Yeah?” Bucky tipped his head to the side, grinning an adorable grin.

“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “In fact -”

“Steven Grant Rogers!”

The loud, female voice drifted across the restaurant, startling Steve. He jumped and yanked his hand free of Bucky’s, spinning in his seat to look for the woman attached to the oh-so-familiar voice calling his name. As soon as he spotted her, he rose to his feet.

“Mom!” He forced a smile onto his face and prayed he didn’t look guilty. Of course, not only was his mother there, but his father as well, both of them heading for the back of the restaurant, huge smiles on their faces.

Shit.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” his mother said, throwing her arms around him and hugging him tightly. “What are you doing here? And why didn’t you call?”

“Sorry, Ma,” he muttered. “It was a crazy night.”

“We saw,” his father interjected. “Great game. We would have been there, but -”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Steve said. “You’re busy. I understand.”

“Well, you know,” his father shrugged, offering no further explanation, not that Steve had expected him to offer up anything other than platitudes. He had grown accustomed to his parents indifferent attitude toward his chosen profession.

“And who is this?” his mother asked, peering around him at Bucky, who was staring at the top of the table and nervously shredding a napkin.

Steve swallowed past the lump that had risen in his throat. A light sweat broke out all over his body as he shifted nervously from foot to foot. “Um, this is Bucky,” he said. “He’s one of my teammates. Buck, these are my parents, Sarah and Joseph Rogers.”

Bucky rose to his feet, a shy smile on his face, though Steve didn’t miss the flash of annoyance in his eyes. He stepped out from behind the table to stand beside Steve.

“James Barnes, ma’am,” he said politely, holding his hand out to Mrs. Rogers. “Bucky’s my nickname.”

Sarah Rogers shook Bucky’s hand, smiling sweetly at him. Bucky then turned to Steve’s father and shook his hand as well.

“Mr. Rogers, sir, pleasure to meet you,” he murmured.

“Barnes,” Joseph nodded. “Centerfield, right?”

“Yes sir,” Bucky smiled.

“Nice work out there,” Joseph said. “So, what are you boys doing in Brooklyn?”

“Celebrating,” Steve answered. “Buck’s from here, so we thought we’d come down, grab a pizza from our favorite pizza place. What about you two?”

“Dinner,” Sarah said. “Dad worked late, so we thought we’d pick up a pizza to take home.”

“Why don’t you join us?” The words were out of Steve’s mouth before he could stop them.

His parents were more than happy to join them, grabbing a couple of chairs and pulling them up to the table while Steve and Bucky slid into the booth, side by side, shoulders touching. The food and the drinks starting coming, two waitresses at the table, along with a flurry of other customers coming up to congratulate them, all of them smiling and laughing.

Steve’s head was spinning. Bucky was sitting next to him, his hand on Steve’s thigh under the table, his mother and father were on the other side of the table, his father silently judging like he always did, his mother spouting question after question, rapid-fire, giving him no time to think, no time to react. The waitress was back, flirting with Bucky, again, and he just wanted to stand up and scream at the top of his lungs.

“How is Natasha, Steven?” his mother asked, drawing not only his attention, but his father’s and Bucky’s as well.

He choked on his beer, spitting back into the glass. “Mom,” he muttered. “We’ve talked about this. Natasha is my agent, that’s it.”

“But I thought -”

“That’s ancient history, Sarah,” Joseph interrupted. “I’m sure Steve has found someone new. Handsome, eligible bachelor, professional ball player. I’m sure there’s a line of girls waiting for him. Isn’t that right, son?”

Steve rolled his eyes and shrugged. “You know how it is, Dad. Too busy to date.”

“Well, your mother won’t wait forever for you to find the right girl and settle down,” his father added. “Any idea when the right person might come along? When are you going to find someone to love you? Or have you found someone and you’re just keeping them under wraps?”

Bucky turned to look at him, one eyebrow quirked. Steve opened his mouth and immediately snapped it shut again. He mumbled his irritation with everyone under his breath, grabbed a piece of pizza, and shoved it in his mouth.

Dinner felt like it went on forever, though in reality it was only about forty-five minutes. Once the pizzas were gone and the pitchers of beer drained, Steve grabbed the bill - under his father’s protests - and hurried to the front register to pay. As he waited for the waitress to run his credit card, he watched Bucky and his parents out of the corner of his eye. His father and Bucky appeared to be having a heated discussion, making Steve immediately regret leaving them alone. He snatched his card from the young lady’s hand and practically ran back to the table, just as his parents were getting up.

“This was wonderful, sweetheart,” Sarah said, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Bucky, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

Joseph shook their hands and mumbled goodbye, then, they were gone as quickly as they’d appeared. Steve turned to Bucky as soon as the door closed behind his parents.

“That was interesting,” he smiled.

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. “Very interesting.”

“What were you and my dad talking about anyway?” Steve asked. “It looked like a pretty serious conversation.”

“It was nothing,” Bucky muttered.

The drive back to Steve’s apartment was silent, though this time it wasn’t comfortable. Steve desperately wanted to plough Bucky for more information about what he and his father had been discussing, but Bucky had shut down, his mouth a thin, tight line, arms crossed, staring out the window. Several times, Steve opened his mouth to prompt Bucky to talk, but he stopped himself, afraid of starting an argument.

Steve parked in his usual spot and killed the engine. Neither of them moved, instead sitting and staring out the windows. A full two minutes went by before Steve could muster the courage to speak.

“What is it, Buck?” he asked quietly.

“You could have told them,” Bucky answered. “You could have told them about us. When your father asked you if the right person had come along, you could have said yes, you could have told them that the person sitting there beside you was that person.”

“Bucky, you know I can’t -”

“Bullshit,” Bucky interrupted. “It’s not that you can’t, you _won’t_.”

“It’s complicated,” Steve sighed. “I’ve told you this.”

“I know,” Bucky mumbled. “But I hoped things were different, I hoped _I_ was different. I thought you were letting go of the guilt, after everything you’ve said, everything that has transpired, I thought maybe you were coming to terms with who you are, who you really are.”

“I’m trying, Buck,” Steve responded. “You know I’m trying.”

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face. “I thought you were trying, I really did. But after tonight, I don’t know what to think.”

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand, squeezing it so hard that Bucky winced. “I am trying, you have to believe that. But, it takes time.”

“You don’t know how bad I wanted to shout at your parents that I was the one, I was the right person for you, that I was sitting right there in front of them, and that I was in love with you -” Bucky’s mouth snapped shut.

“Y-you...you’re in love with me?” Steve stammered.

Bucky nodded, refusing to look at him. He yanked his hand out of Steve’s and brushed impatiently at the tears sliding down his cheeks. “How could I not be?” he shrugged. “And how could you not see it? I am desperately in love with you and I’m just waiting for you to finally admit that you love me, too. But every time we get close, you scramble backwards, using the “it’s complicated” line. It’s not complicated for me, Stevie, not even a little.” He fumbled for the door handle, finally shoving it open, and himself out of the car.

“Where are you going?” Steve shouted after him.

“I’m leaving,” he said, glaring at Steve through the open car door. “I need some time. You understand that, don’t you Steve? Time?” He spun on his heel and hurried out of the garage, ignoring Steve’s calls for him to stop.

Steve followed, but by the time he caught up to Bucky, he was climbing in the back of a cab and slamming the door closed.


	8. Struck Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky makes some decisions about his life and career

Ten unanswered phone calls, countless text messages, and one night spent drinking himself into a stupor had left Bucky feeling lower than low. It was almost one in the afternoon and he was still in bed.

And his phone was ringing. Again.

He picked it up, glanced at the screen, then dropped it on the bed beside him, unanswered. Make that eleven unanswered calls. He had to hand it to Steve, he was persistent. But Bucky wasn’t ready to talk to him yet, not after last night.

Bucky pushed himself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face and brushed his teeth before making his way through the apartment to the kitchen. He didn’t even glance at his closed bedroom door as he passed it; he’d slept in the guest bedroom, unable to deal with the sheets that still smelled like Steve. He’d laid on the bed for all of thirty seconds before he’d gotten up and marched down the hall to the second bedroom, the goddamn tears he’d thought he was done shedding leaking from the corners of his eyes again.

The coffee took too long to brew, the bread took too long to toast, the television was too loud, and the sportscaster was too judgmental of the Yankees and their upstart, young center fielder, and all Bucky could think about was how he was mad at everyone and everything.

In reality, he was mad at himself.

He’d been stupid to believe that Steve could change, that he could ever accept who he really was, embrace his bisexuality, and let himself love Bucky. It was his own fault that he’d gotten his heart broken; he should have known better than to fall for the Yankee shortstop. As soon as he’d found out that Steve kept his sexuality hidden, that he felt guilty expressing who he really was, he should have run screaming in the other direction. Instead, he’d let himself fall in love.

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face, leaning against the counter by the coffee pot, silently urging it to hurry up. He jumped when his phone went off, again, in his pocket. He yanked it free with a loud curse, and this time, he answered it.

“What?”

“Jesus, Buck, I’ve been calling and texting,” Steve sputtered. “I’ve been so worried -”

“I’m fine,” he interrupted. “I told you, I need some time.”

“I’ll come over, we’ll talk -”

“No!” Bucky snapped. “I don’t want you to come over.” He blew out a shaky breath, trying to calm down. “I’ll...I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.” He disconnected the call before Steve could respond.

He set the phone on the counter, staring at it and running his hands through his hair, making it stand on end. Decision made, he picked up the phone and quickly dialed his agent.

“Hey, Maria, it’s Bucky,” he said when she answered. “I was wondering if we could talk. I’d like to see what I can do to get traded to another team.”

* * *

**_Two Weeks Later_ **

Bucky stood in the shower, hands resting on the tile wall, the hot water running over his slumped shoulders. He’d worked out until he’d nearly dropped, then he kept going. Anything to take his mind off of the last couple of weeks - the loss to the Red Sox and his break up with Steve had drained him. Thanks to the mental exhaustion from avoiding Steve during the playoff series against the Red Sox, having to hide his feelings from Steve and everyone else, and the disappointment of the Yankee lose, he was running on fumes. He could barely keep his eyes open, he wouldn’t be surprised if he fell asleep right there in the shower.

Five minutes later, he was standing in front of the fridge, in sweatpants and a shirt he suspected had been Steve’s, a beer in one hand, and what looked like old kung pao chicken in the other. He tossed the chicken in the trash and took a long swallow from the beer before slamming the refrigerator closed. He could order food, but that seemed like too much work, so instead he threw himself on the couch and turned on the TV, avoiding anything sports related.

A knock on his door pulled him from the light doze he’d slipped into. Half awake, he stumbled to the door, yanking it open without looking through the peephole.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve murmured.

Bucky sagged against the door. “What are you doing here, Steve?” he mumbled. “I thought I made it clear I didn’t have anything else to say.”

“I brought sustenance,” Steve replied, holding up a box of pizza from Antonio’s. “Knowing you, the only thing in your fridge is week old Chinese food.” He held up the other hand, a bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers. “And alcohol. Though, that’s more for me. Keep me from chickening out and not saying what I want to say.”

Steve swallowed nervously and shrugged one shoulder. Bucky couldn’t help but think how adorable he looked when he was nervous.

“Please, Bucky, I just...I just want to talk,” Steve whispered. “That’s it.”

Bucky pushed the door open and stepped to the side, gesturing halfheartedly for Steve to come in. Steve gave him a tentative smile and slipped past him, heading straight for the kitchen. He busied himself pulling plates and glasses from the cupboard. Once he had everything he needed, he sat down at the kitchen table and motioned for Bucky to join him.

Bucky refused the glass of whiskey Steve held out to him, choosing instead to stick with beer. He wanted to try to keep his wits about him. They ate in silence for the next few minutes, not even making eye contact until Bucky couldn’t take it any longer.

“Talk, Steve,” he ordered, though he figured it wouldn’t be any different than any of the other times they’d talked over the last two weeks. One of those had ended with both of them in tears, once he’d hung up on him, and one had ended in a shouting match. None of those times had Steve said the words Bucky wanted or needed to hear.

“I’m sorry -”

“Don’t apologize again,” Bucky snapped. “I don’t want apologies.”

Steve nodded, one hand swiping at his mouth as if he was trying to wipe the apology away. “I know,” he sighed. “I know.” His eyes slipped closed and he blew out a shaky breath.

“Maria’s trying to help me get traded,” Bucky blurted.

“What?” Steve’s eyes shot open. “What do you mean traded?”

“My contract with the Yankees was only through the end of the season,” Bucky explained. “It was understood that I’d go back to the minors, but they’re have been offers from other teams, good offers. Maria thinks she can get me a good deal with another team. A really good deal.”

“You’re leaving?” Steve asked.

Bucky pushed himself out of his chair, his plate in his hand. He tossed it in the sink then he rested his hands on other side of it, staring at the stainless steel. “There’s nothing to keep me with the Yankees.”

Steve rose slowly to his feet. He moved as if he was unsure of himself, as if he didn’t know what to do, closing the distance between them very slowly. He stopped a foot away and leaned against the counter, arms crossed, staring at his feet.

“Don’t go, Buck,” he murmured.

Bucky could only shake his head, unable to even look Steve’s way. The thought of being away from Steve made him physically ill, but his heart couldn’t handle anymore pain.

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve whispered, stepping closer, right into Bucky’s personal space, so close Bucky could feel his breath blowing against the skin on his arm. “You’re the first person I think I’ve ever really loved. You make me crazy. You’re stubborn and cocky, smart and funny, and probably the most frustrating person I know. But I love everything about you. I don't want to lose you. I can’t lose you.” His hand closed over Bucky’s, squeezing gently. “Please, Bucky. Don’t do it.”

Bucky turned his head and Steve was right there, in his face; the man he loved. He rested his forehead against Steve’s and sighed, his eyes slipping closed. Steve’s hand closed around the back of his neck, holding them together, their breath mingling, their hearts beating in sync.

“I can’t be a secret anymore, Steve,” Bucky said. “If you want to keep me a secret, we can’t do this. I won’t do this.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, shaking his head just a little bit.

And there it was. The one thing Bucky needed was the one thing Steve couldn’t do. His heart felt like it was breaking in half as he took a step back and pulled his hand free of Steve’s grip.

“You need to go,” Bucky murmured.

Instead, Steve moved closer, his hands on Bucky’s waist, pulling him into his arms. Steve pressed him into the counter, his mouth on Bucky’s, his tongue pushing past his teeth, kissing him breathless.

Bucky put his hands in the center of Steve’s chest and pushed him away. “Please Steve, just go. I’m begging you, don’t make this any harder.”

Steve nodded, his lower lip caught between his teeth. As he turned, Bucky saw the tears glistening in his eyes. He snatched his keys off the counter and without another word, he left Bucky’s apartment.

* * *

“What do you mean, they counter every offer?” Bucky asked.

“Every offer, James,” Maria explained. “Whatever any team offers, the Yankees counter with the same or better. They are determined to keep you. Are you sure you won’t reconsider staying with the Yankees?”

“I can’t, Maria,” Bucky shook his head.

“You mind explaining why?” Maria asked.

“It’s personal,” he sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it. Just wee what you can do to get me a new team.”

“I’m trying, James,” she mumbled, shoving her files in her leather briefcase. “I’m really trying.”

Just as Maria was leaving, Gamora appeared at his door. She smiled at him, pushed past Maria and dropped to the couch. She leaned back, her feet on the coffee table, waiting patiently while he said his goodbyes to his agent.

“What are you doing here, Gam?” he asked with a sigh. He wasn’t interested in company, hadn’t been for weeks, not since he’d ended things with Steve. He wanted to mope alone.

“I came to keep you company,” she shrugged. “You need to get out of this funk you’re in.”

“I’m perfectly happy in the funk I’m in, thank you very much,” Bucky grumbled. He sat beside Gamora, arms crossed and eyes closed. “If I choose to move on, I’ll call you.”

“Buck, it’s been almost a month,” Gamora said gently. “Don’t you think you should -”

“Should what, Gam?” Bucky snapped. “Get over it? Move on? Find someone new?” He shook his head. “I loved him, Gam. Shit, I still do. That’s not something you get over. Two weeks ago, he stood in my kitchen and told me he loved me.”

“I know,” she murmured. “I’m not saying you should move on or find someone new. I just think you need to try and _live_ , Buck. I don’t think Steve would want you sitting around and moping all day, everyday. Jesus, have you even left the apartment?”

“A couple of times,” he replied. “I don’t know. What difference does it make?”

“I worry about you,” Gamora said. “Is it really over? You’re sure there’s no chance of reconciliation?”

“Yes,” Bucky nodded. “Steve isn’t ready to accept his bisexuality. He’s not ready to be honest with himself, with me, with his family, or his friends. If he can’t do that, there’s nothing more between us.”

“Have you talked to him at all?” Gamora asked. “Maybe he’s changed his mind?”

As if on cue, Bucky’s phone chimed with an incoming text message. Before he could grab it, Gamora snatched it off the table, her eyes widening. “Speak of the devil…” She held the phone out to him. “You should answer him.”

“No,” Bucky shook his head. “It’s probably just more of the same thing. Excuses.”

Gamora punched in his six digit code and opened his text messages. It irritated him that she still remembered his secret number that he used for everything - his batting average and number of homeruns combined - and was able to get into his phone. Though he should be used to Gamora invading his privacy by now.

“Gam, just delete it,” he said.

“He said to turn on Sportscenter,” she mumbled. She picked up the remote and quickly found ESPN despite Bucky’s protests.

_Again, to repeat, Steve Rogers, the popular Yankee shortstop, has released a statement via his publicist, confirming that he is a bisexual. When asked what prompted Rogers to release this statement at this time, his publicist responded that Mr. Rogers has met someone who is very important to him and that he no longer wishes to keep that side of himself a secret. Moments after Rogers statement was released, the Yankees’ organization also released a statement stating that they are one hundred percent supportive of their star shortstop and proud of his decision to come forward. They wish him nothing but happiness and can’t wait to see what the future has in store for him with their organization._

Bucky sat in stunned silence, staring at the television, unable to believe what he had just heard. He wanted to jump and down and scream with joy, he wanted to find Steve and hug the shit out of him, he wanted to shout from the rooftops that Steve loved him, and he wanted to cry. He pushed himself to his feet, nervous energy propelling him to move, to do something. He’d completely forgotten that Gamora was there until she spoke up.

“What are you gonna do, Buck?” she asked.

He stood there for only s second before grabbing his phone and keys.

“I’m going to Steve’s.”


	9. The Off Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will Steve and Bucky finally get their happily ever after?

“He’ll come around, Steven,” Sarah said. “Your father just, well… just give him a little time.”

“I’m surprised you’re taking this as well as you are,” Steve murmured, smiling at his mother. “I thought...I don’t know, I thought that you’d hate me.”

“I could never hate you,” his mother admonished. “You’re my son. The only thing that matters to me is that you’re happy.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you happy?”

If the silent phone in his pocket was any indication, the possibility of that wasn’t looking so good. “I guess that’s still to be determined,” he shrugged, hoping his disappointment didn’t come through in the tone of his voice.

“Look, honey, I should go,” Sarah said, rising to her feet and grabbing her purse.

“Of course,” Steve replied, also standing and following his mother to the door. He accepted her hug and opened the door for her.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she scolded. “And let me know if Bucky calls.”

“What?” He took a step back in surprise.

“Please Steven, you think I don’t know?” She patted his cheek, smiled knowingly, and disappeared down the hallway.

Steve closed the door and leaned against it, eyes closed. That had gone better than he'd expected. He just hoped his mother was right and his father eventually came around.

It had been almost two hours since the press release. He’d fielded phone calls from most of the team, his agent, a few childhood friends, a loud ‘it’s about fucking time’ call from Clint, and a visit from his mother. But he hadn’t heard from the only person he wanted to hear from - Bucky. He'd hoped for at least a text message or something, but there had been nothing. Steve was beginning to wonder if it was too little too late.

After the day he’d had, he needed a drink. Halfway to the kitchen, there was a quiet knock at the door. He spun around, hurrying back to answer it.

"Alright, Mom, what did you forget?" he asked as he pulled the door open.

But it wasn't his mom staring back at him.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair and shifted nervously from foot to foot. "Hi," he murmured.

“Hi,” Steve exhaled. It felt as if he’d been holding his breath for the last month and for the first time in a long time, he could breathe.

“Can I come in?” Bucky asked.

“Jesus, yeah,” Steve mumbled. “Sorry.” He motioned for Bucky to come in, closing the door behind him.

“I, uh, would have come sooner, but traffic was a bitch,” Bucky muttered. “And I didn’t want to call, I wanted to look you in the face when I said this -”

“Said what, Buck?” Steve’s hands were sweating and he felt like he was going to puke. This was the moment he’d both wanted and dreaded since he’d made the decision to come out. All that mattered was what Bucky wanted, what Bucky said.

“I saw the news, saw what you did,” Bucky whispered. “Was that for me?”

“It was because of you,” Steve nodded. “Because I do love you and I don’t want to lose you. I know it’s been hard on you and for that, I’m sorry. I signed a contract extension with the Yankees. I’m not asking you to do the same, but I am asking - more like hoping - you’ll at least consider doing the same. But if you don’t, we’ll figure it out, that is, if you want to figure it out. Together, I hope.”

“Together?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Together.”

They stood in the middle of the room staring at each other for a heartbeat, and then they moved, coming together, Bucky’s hands on Steve’s waist, Steve’s hands cupping Bucky’s face, pulling him into a kiss. The second their lips touched, Bucky moaned, the sound sending a chill down Steve’s spine. He walked him backwards until they hit the couch, the two of them falling onto it in a tangle of limbs, their lips melded together as if they were one.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve mumbled, his lips ghosting along Bucky’s jaw, his teeth closing around the lobe of his ear, biting gently. “I was so damn stupid.”

“Yeah, you were,” Bucky chuckled. “But, I think you made up for it in a big way. I can’t believe you did that.”

“I couldn’t lose you, Buck,” Steve sighed.

“This is gonna change everything,” Bucky murmured. “You know that, right? The scrutiny from the press, the way some people treat you, that’s all going to be different. Are you ready for that?”

“The only thing that matters to me is you,” Steve replied.

“You say that now. But once the assholes come out of the woodwork -”

Steve sat up, pulling Bucky with him. “I’m not just saying it, Bucky,” he said. “I mean it. None of it matters without you. I don’t care what the press says, or what people think, shit, I don’t even care what my parents think. The only thing I care about, the only thing I should have cared about all along was you. I’m not making that mistake again.”

“So, where do we go from here?” Bucky asked.

“I don’t know about you, but I could use a vacation,” Steve chuckled, leaning back and closing his eyes. It’s been a rough few weeks.” He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Mmm, a vacation?” Bucky grinned. “Would I be invited on that vacation?”

“I’d kick your ass if you didn’t go with me,” Steve mumbled. He sat up abruptly. “Shit, unless you don’t want to. I mean...i didn’t even talk to you about any of this...It just occurred to me that my coming out is going to mean -”

“That I’m coming out,” Bucky finished. “Steve, I’m already out.”

“But not to the press -”

“Steve, stop.” Bucky put his hand on Steve’s arm, silencing him. “I’ll be okay, I swear. I’ll deal with it. We’ll deal with it. Together.”

“Together,” Steve grinned.

* * *

**_Ten Days Later_ **

“Buck, have you seen my shorts?” Steve yelled. “The ones I was wearing last night?”

“Check under the bed,” Bucky called from the bathroom. “Maybe they’re under there?”

Steve dropped to his hands and knees, peering under the bed. “If somebody wasn’t so damn impatient,” he mumbled.

“Excuse me?” Bucky laughed, standing in front of the bathroom door, a white towel around his waist. “I’m pretty sure you were the one yanking off my clothes last night. So who’s impatient?”

Steve snagged his shorts with one finger and stood up. “It’s not my fault you looked so damn good. That new haircut is gonna be the death of me.”

Bucky laughed again, a blush coloring his cheeks. He ran a hand through his much shorter hair. “Are you sure? It’s so short.”

Steve crossed the room in a couple of strides and grabbed Bucky, his hands in the younger man’s now short hair, dragging him close, their lips crashing together. “I love the hair,” he growled. “It’s definitely not too short.”

“I thought we were going down to the beach,” Bucky murmured, his hands resting lightly on Steve’s bare chest.

“Mmm, wouldn’t you rather stay here?” Steve whispered, tugging at the towel around Bucky’s waist. “Go back to bed?”

“You tired, old man?” Bucky chuckled.

“Not yet,” was Steve’s reply. “Maybe you can wear me out?”

“I’m willing to try,” Bucky answered, his arms sliding around Steve’s waist. He caught Steve’s lips in his, kissing him breathless.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were panting. Steve rested his forehead against Bucky’s, his thumb tracing Buck’s lower lip.

“Thank you,” Steve whispered.

“For what?” Bucky asked. “Tossing your shorts under the bed?”

“No,” Steve chuckled, “for coming into my life and helping me figure out who I am.”

“You knew who you were,” Bucky shrugged. “You just needed an obnoxious, cocky, upstart rookie to point you in the right direction. And to fall in love with you.”

“I love you, Buck,” Steve breathed.

“I know,” Bucky sighed. “Now stop talking and take me back to bed.”

“Bossy,” Steve muttered, but he yanked Bucky’s towel off as he pushed him toward the bed, laughing at the mock glare Bucky shot over his shoulder.

“Get your ass over here, Rogers,” Bucky growled. “I’ll show you who’s boss.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve murmured. As far as he was concerned, whatever Bucky wanted, it was his. He’d give him the world if he could.

He certainly intended to try.


End file.
